Act of Contrition
by augiesannie
Summary: "You can't go back," Reverend Mother said sadly. "I'm very sorry to have to tell you this, Maria, but Captain von Trapp has announced his engagement to Baroness Elsa Schrader." An angsty, slightly AU one-shot. Please read and review!


Act of Contrition

"Are you in love with him?" Reverend Mother asked, not bothering to hide the shocked concern in her voice.

"I don't know! I don't know!" Maria cried out in anguish. "The Baroness said I was. She said he was in love with me! But I didn't want to believe it. Oh, there were times when we would look at each other – oh, Mother, I could hardly breathe! What should I do, Reverend Mother? Should I go back?"

"No," the old woman answered sadly. "You can't go back." She sighed. "I'm very sorry to have to tell you this, Maria, but all of Salzburg is abuzz with the news. You'll hear it soon enough."

"News?"

There was a long pause. "Captain von Trapp has announced his engagement to Baroness Elsa Schrader."

The news should not have come as a surprise, but still, it struck Maria like a blow. She hadn't eaten or slept much for days, and for a moment, she thought she might faint dead away from the shock of it. But she was too proud to show her feelings, even to Reverend Mother, and she curled her fingers around the edges of the chair until her knuckles turned white, willing herself not to cry. What had she expected, after all?

Thankfully, there was an almost immediate distraction: a sharp knock on the door at the far end of the room. There were two doors to Reverend Mother's office. At one end, just near where the two women sat, was the heavy dark door that led into the convent. The knock had come from the other end of the office, from a door that led to the Abbey courtyard and the outside world. That door was painted an incongruous bright blue, as though to remind you of the temptations that lay beyond. But as far as Maria was concerned, there was nothing on the other side of that blue door besides heartache and disappointment. She was done with that world.

Sister Anna had entered through the blue door and was whispering in Reverend Mother's ear.

"Again?" Mother asked sharply, and Sister Anna nodded.

"Very well. Just give me a minute."

Sister Anna curtsied and left, and Reverend Mother turned back toward Maria.

"My child. I have urgent business to attend to. I am sorry to have had to give you this news. I will send for you later and we will talk further about your future."

"Reverend Mother," Maria pleaded. "Please. Will I be able to take my vows? Can you at least tell me that?"

"Go, Maria," Mother said. Her voice was kind, but firm, the answer unspoken but completely clear.

Maria rose, curtsied and somehow managed to push open the heavy door and stagger into the dark corridor beyond. The reality of her situation – no family, a broken heart, and no future at Nonnberg – washed over her again. She didn't even have enough strength to push the door closed all the way. Instead, she leaned against the wall for a moment, but dizziness overtook her until her knees buckled and she slid to the floor. She lay there for a few minutes, trying to block out everything except the feeling of cool stone floor against her hot cheek.

The door was still open an inch or two, and she was about to call Reverend Mother for help, when, to her horror, she heard an familiar, unmistakable voice. Her heart turned to ice.

"Reverend Mother. Thank you for seeing me."

"Captain von Trapp. Please, have a seat, and tell me why you're here."

Maria pressed herself into the floor, willing herself to disappear entirely, sure that they could both hear her heart pounding. She considered trying to creep farther away from the door, but was too afraid of being discovered, and in any event, she wasn't sure she could move at all: her limbs were stiff with fear, and she could barely draw a breath.

"Captain?" Reverend Mother prompted him.

"Oh, yes, well. I've come about Maria. I'd like to speak with her in person. I – that is, my whole family – we're terribly concerned about her."

"Yes, Captain. So you told me when you called the morning after she returned here, and then when you called again a few days later. As I told you both times, Maria is here. She is safe. That's all there is to it. There is no need for you to see her."

"Yes, yes, I know, Reverend Mother. But I – that is, _we_ –"

"Captain," Reverend Mother said briskly. "Maria has left your employment. You are not members of her family. She really isn't your concern anymore. There are people here who care for her. I don't mean to be unkind, but you – and your family, as you say – you need to let go of her."

"I'm afraid that is impossible." he said, biting out the words, raising his voice slightly. "With all due respect, I cannot take your word for it. I need to see for myself." Maria hadn't heard him sound so agitated in weeks.

And she had never heard Reverend Mother speak so harshly in return: "And why is that so necessary, Captain? Is there some burden weighing on you? Because it is plain to see that the carefree, loving young woman we sent to you has returned to us quite - well, damaged, to be honest. What, exactly, happened to Maria while she lived under your roof?"

"What?" he was almost shouting now. "Surely you are not suggesting…"

Maria felt her cheeks turn red.

The Abbess sighed deeply. "No, of course not. I'm sorry I even asked. I know what kind of man you are. But Captain, _something _happened. And to be honest with you, it would help me help Maria if you could explain it."

"I can tell you what I know." He sounded calmer now. " My family – we've had a difficult time of it these last years."

"Yes, I recall that when you wrote to me for a governess, you mentioned that."

"It wasn't only the governesses. Somehow, I had become estranged from my children. It was as though they reminded me too much of their mother. My wife. Maria, well, I don't know how she did it, but she made us a family again. After that, my grief lightened somehow."

"Maria has had a great deal of experience with loss," Reverend Mother commented, "and yet she has not grown bitter. She has a great capacity to love."

Disheartened as she was, Maria felt a little flutter of pride at the older woman's words.

"Yes. Well. I – well, all of us, of course – we grew very fond of her."

"Do you have any idea why she ran away?"

There was a long pause before he answered. "There was a party at my home. I – I danced with her, and…"

"You what?" the Abbess said sharply.

"It wasn't what you think," the Captain said defensively. "She was dancing with my children in the garden. Frankly, they were having a better time than I was in so-called polite society, and the next thing I knew, she and I were-" He coughed. "I was so rattled that I'm afraid I was quite rude to her afterward. The next thing I knew, she was gone."

"Why rattled, Captain? No, wait, don't answer that. It doesn't matter, anyhow. Is it true that you have recently become engaged?"

"Yes, but..."

"To Baroness Elsa Schrader, is that right? Tell me, Captain, what did _she_ think about this dance of yours?"

"She said we made a – look, it doesn't matter. That had nothing to do with – you see, it wasn't only the dance. Maria deserved to be treated better. I behaved badly. She didn't do a thing to-"

"I see." Reverend Mother was silent for a long while before she spoke again, like she was thinking carefully about what she wanted to say. "Captain von Trapp. You are a fine man, and a brave one. I told Maria that when I sent her to you, and now I can see it for myself. You've fought courageously for your country. You've experienced a great many losses. Now you've found someone you want to spend the rest of your life with. Whatever happened this summer – I'm sure that it was just a misunderstanding. There is no need to discuss it further."

"She didn't do a thing to deserve the way she was treated," he repeated. "Reverend Mother. I'm afraid you don't understand. I'm not sure_ I_ even understand. If I could just speak with her, apologize-"

"Oh, Captain, but I _do_ understand. Please. The best thing you can do for Maria is to put this behind you. Go home to your Baroness and let _her_ help you wrestle with your conscience. Now then. I expect that you will not call again, Captain, but I do wish you all the best. Thank you so much for coming. May I see you out?"

Suddenly, Maria was overcome with longing for one last glimpse of him, even though she knew it would make her heart break all over again. She slid closer to the open door and peeked through, her heart in her mouth. Reverend Mother stood at the far end of the room, by the bright blue door. And there he was, tall and handsome as ever, moving slowly, as though he was reluctant for the interview to end. From where she lay outside the door, Maria could hear his final, muttered words, although Reverend Mother likely could not.

"Not fine. Nor brave, for that matter. Not at all."

OoOoOoOoOo

Another sleepless night. He counted them out, one after the other. The twelfth since Elsa's party. The tenth since he'd proposed to her. The sixth since his visit to the Abbey. The fifth since…

Georg tossed and turned for hours. He didn't want to get out of bed just to walk the halls of the villa, knowing that he'd run into one or another of his children. They were all overwhelmed by grief at the loss of their governess, and he'd had no comfort to offer them. Finally, just when the bedside clock read 4:00 a.m., a small but important errand occurred to him that, even at this unlikely hour, might take his mind off things. He dug out something suitable to wear, slipped out the back door, and headed for the barn.

The barn doors swung open with a familiar squeak. There was a rustle from the loft above him, and then all hell broke loose.

His response to the attack was pure reflex. Although he hadn't seen active combat for decades, the instincts had stayed with him. From the moment his assailant landed on him from above, it took no more than ten seconds for Georg to flip him onto the ground and subdue him. There was barely enough time to puzzle over this strange opponent: he weighed almost nothing, was ineffectively wielding some kind of unlikely weapon, and his grunts and cries were oddly high-pitched. No matter – Georg quickly had his attacker firmly pinned to the ground, although there was something terribly – comfortable, almost pleasant – about the soft body under his. His mind still hadn't caught up with reality when the frantic, familiar voice underneath him made it all horribly clear.

"Get off of me!"

"Fraulein Maria?" Georg leapt to his feet as though he'd been lying on a bed of hot coals.

"Captain von Trapp? What are you _doing _here?"

"I have a mare who's about to foal, and I can't trust that moronic stable boy to check on her, so I came out myself… What am I saying? This is _my_ barn! What in God's name are _you _doing here?"

As Maria scrambled to her feet, she tried to make his face out in the gloom, imagining how he might appear grim and unwelcoming. Her mouth went dry, and her lungs locked. Here she had gone to so much trouble, slipping out of the Abbey, making the long walk back to Aigen in the treacherous dark, hiding in the loft to wait for morning, and she hadn't bothered to think through what, exactly, she was going to say to him. She knew deep in her heart exactly what she _wanted_ to say, but now that she had the chance, she'd completely lost her nerve.

"I-I ran away," she blurted.

The words flew from his mouth before he could stop them. "Did you? What a _charming_ idea! So original! Is that what you do every time you run into any sort of difficulty? Has it ever occurred to you to face your troubles instead of running away from them?"

It had been a mistake to come, she saw now. What had she expected? She turned toward the door. "I'm sorry. I made a mistake. The reason I came – it no longer exists."

Her back was to him, but even in the half-darkness, he saw the way her shoulders slumped as she hurried away. He was overcome by shame.

"Oh, God. Come back! Fraulein. Forgive me. I should not have spoken that way to you. It's just that – you cannot imagine how devastated the children – no, all of us – were by your departure. I'm afraid my temper got the best of me. I want you to stay. Even for a minute. Please. Just let me get some light in here."

Georg fumbled with the matches and lantern, until at last, a patch of light opened around them. She looked miserable; her face was dirty, and bits of straw stuck to her hair and to the misshapen black dress that covered her from neck to ankle. As she moved away from the barn door, he thought he could see her limping slightly.

"Are you hurt? Let me see-" he started toward her, but she shrank from him.

"Don't touch me," she squeaked. "Please. I'm fine."

For a fraction of a second, he thought of the last time he'd touched her, how she'd felt in his arms, how he could feel the curve of her waist through his gloves. He shook his head to chase away the memory. "All right. All right," he said as soothingly as he could. "Now that you're here, you might as well stay and tell me what happened. Were they unkind to you?"

Maria gave an exasperated little sigh and seated herself on a bale of hay. "No. Of course not."

"Well, then, what was it? Let's start at the very beginning. You left without saying goodbye, even to the children. Why exactly did you run away to the Abbey? And what was it that made you come back and hide in my barn?"

He remained standing. She'd never seen him dressed so casually, in a wrinkled open-necked shirt and stained trousers. With his hair standing on end and his face unshaven, he looked almost devilish. He was looming over her in a way that made it hard for her to think. But flustered as she was, Maria knew one thing: she was a coward. She wasn't ever going to be able to tell him the truth.

Fortunately, a convenient half-truth occurred to her. "I missed the children."

"I see. Is there a reason you thought you couldn't just ring the front doorbell and come for a visit? Teatime, or even lunch perhaps?"

Maria just shrugged. There was a long, awkward silence, and then something caught his eye, something he'd failed to notice till now.

"What's that you're clutching?"

"It's – a riding – er, thing."

"What are you doing with a riding crop?" Georg steeled himself for some fanciful tale about her going for a midnight ride, although he knew perfectly well she was terrified of horses.

"I was hiding in the loft. Waiting until morning when I could... I heard someone approaching and I thought it was an intruder. You were always talking about how these are such dangerous times, not letting us out on the grounds at night, and I was frightened. It was the only – er – weapon I could find up there. I thought I'd just drop down on top of the intruder and knock him over long enough to get away."

He couldn't help chuckling. "That would have worked fine if the intruder had been someone Gretl's size. As it is, _you_ are the intruder, and if you want to stay out of trouble, you'd better start talking. What are you afraid of, anyway? It's not like my governess to hold back."

"I'm not your governess anymore," she said quietly. Her face was unreadable.

Silence descended upon them again, a thick silence as unpleasant as the humid night air. How she wished she'd never come! At least his initial, angry sarcasm had been familiar to her; she knew that Captain von Trapp, and she knew how to handle him. This man standing before her was unnervingly different from the Captain she knew. He wasn't being edifying, or charming, or mischievous, or kind, or even cross or stubborn . He wasn't pacing. He was simply … watching her, waiting for her to say or do something, which she couldn't possibly do. Perhaps the two of them would stay there, locked in silence, for hours or even days. He looked as though he could go on this way indefinitely.

Watching her, Georg felt oddly at peace, though he couldn't think of why. Nothing had changed, really. Germany still threatened Austria, his personal and family life was in disarray. But somehow his heart felt lighter just seeing her again. At least for the moment, he seemed free of the guilty thoughts that had tormented him for weeks. Maria, on the other hand, looked wretched. Slowly, he realized that his feisty little governess was too scared to explain the reason for her visit. He thought back to his interview with the Reverend Mother. "Fine and brave," was he? Well, if that drawerful of medals still meant anything, certainly he could be brave for the miserable young woman sitting on his bale of hay.

"Fraulein." At last, he spoke. "I know why you ran away."

"You do?"

"Yes, and since you are a coward, I'm going to say it for both of us."

"Don't you call me a coward! I came all the way here in the dark, and hid in a barn full of horses, even though I'm terrified of horses, and…"

"Be quiet," he said firmly. His eyes didn't leave her face, and somehow, she couldn't look away. "All right. Something was happening. Between you and me." She gave a little moan of protest, but he pushed on. "Don't bother denying it. I don't know when it started. I should – I should have done something, I don't know what, to stop it, but God help me, I didn't want to. I wasn't even sure you realized it, and I thought it wouldn't matter, since you were going..."

He paused for a moment, and then the words continued to pour out of him. "That dance – I haven't felt that way in years! It didn't even matter that the children were there, I wanted to kiss you. Kiss you! And don't deny it-" his blue gaze darkened, became more intense, and she felt her stomach drop – "you would have kissed me back. And then, just afterward, I cut you off. Froze you out. It was pure cowardice. There's no excuse for it. I was so shaken up …" His voice trailed off.

Maria could hardly breathe. In little more than a minute, he had put everything that had happened during the long summer into a few dozen words, and the truth of it was almost too overwhelming to bear. And yet – the way he told the story – that's not exactly how it had seemed to her. She hadn't come back here to be a victim, to earn his pity.

"You think I ran away because..."

"You were frightened. And confused. And instead of standing your ground like the brave young woman I know you to be, you ran away. I'm not blaming you, though. It was my fault, I know. That's what's been torturing me."

"Frightened? I'm not frightened of you," she flared. "I ran away because I didn't want to cause any trouble. That's all there is to it." She dashed her arm across her eyes.

"I see," he said gently. "That explains the tears, I suppose?"

"I cry when I'm angry. I _hate_ being pitied, more than anything. And here I thought I was doing you a favor, coming back to help you, to tell you-"

"O-ho!" he pounced. "Now we're getting somewhere. What exactly _are_ you doing here, Fraulein?"

He had said she was brave, hadn't he? So now she really had no choice. She stood to face him, squaring her shoulders.

"All right. It's true, what you say. I did have…_feelings. _For you. I know what you think, but that wasn't it at all. I'm not some pathetic little governess from the mountains swooning over a handsome war hero."

He'd begun to protest, but he was curious and even a little amused. Dozens of women had flirted with him over the years, and he couldn't think of anyone who had ever cut him down quite so effectively. And he'd forgotten how easy it was to be captivated by that clear blue gaze. So he let her go on.

"It was the way you took to heart what I said about the children, the day you came back from Vienna. That's when it started. No one _ever_ takes my advice seriously. And men like you _never_ admit they were wrong. It took someone special to try and make things right the way you did. You may be a war hero, but it was the way you fought for _them_, do you see? I wish someone had done that for me, when I was young. "

For just a moment, Georg saw something shining out from her blue eyes, admiration and respect and – before he could name it, she looked away, and her voice dropped so low he had to lean close to listen.

"And you're right. It did frighten me, that dance. And the way I felt. Especially knowing you would never…" she swallowed hard before she was able to continue. The next part was going to be even harder, but she felt oddly secure, like it was a relief to unburden herself to this formidable man.

"I did something terrible, Captain. Something I shouldn't have done. Last week, when you came to see Reverend Mother. I had just left her office the back way and…well, it was an accident at first, but I eavesdropped. I heard everything. I heard you say that you had behaved badly that night, at the party. That I didn't deserve the way I'd been treated. I came back to tell you that you didn't do anything wrong. You don't need to feel guilty or ashamed or anything like that. That's all. I wanted you to know that."

Stunned, it took him a moment to find a response. "Didn't do anything _wrong_? Perhaps I wasn't clear enough. I coveted my governess, a young woman half my age promised to God, and…"

Maria shocked him with a snort of laughter. "You must be the only person in the world who took my vocation seriously. Including me, I think. Certainly no one at Nonnberg ever really did."

He blinked at that news, which somehow didn't surprise him at all. "I hope I didn't do anything to…"

She shook her head. "It doesn't have anything to do with you. Not everything is about you, you know," she said crossly.

"Fraulein. I embarrassed you by behaving inappropriately toward you in public and in front of my family. And then I was unspeakably rude to you afterward. I was a coward. I should have acknowledged what happened, tried to fix it somehow. Isn't that enough?"

She sat down again. Her tone was quieter now, uncertain, like she was repeating something she'd been told but didn't quite believe. "But you only did that because…because I encouraged you." Her voice strengthened. "I should have tried harder not to show how I felt. I thought about leaving, you know, but I couldn't bear to leave the children. I thought, well, it would only be a few more weeks, and you were about to get engaged anyway, so it wouldn't really matter. I knew you'd get over it."

"Get over it," he repeated, dumbfounded.

"You were only doing what any man would do. It wasn't your fault…"

"What?" he exclaimed. "Who told you that? Or is this something you've learned from your vast experience with men?"

She turned deep red before he could even begin to apologize.

"I'm sorry, Fraulein. I don't know what's wrong with me tonight."

Shrugging, she managed a smile. Her pride wouldn't let his remark go unanswered. "Just so you know, I _did_ have a boyfriend or two. When I was in teachers' college. Another mark against me. Anyway. It doesn't matter. I've done what I came here to do."

"What do you mean? What have you done?"

"I heard the news," she explained. "About your getting married, I mean."

He went still. "Is that why you came back?"

"Yes. No. Not exactly. Hearing what you said to Reverend Mother, I didn't want to let, well, what happened…" she looked at the floor, shyly, "get in the way of your marriage. Not that it would have, I mean, it's not like I think…but now you don't have to worry about it anymore. I'm so sorry, really."

There was another long, awkward silence, and then they both spoke at once.

"You didn't do a thing, Fraulein."

"You didn't do a thing, Captain."

The absurdity of it broke the tension, and they both laughed.

Once more, she stood, and this time she extended her hand to him. "Perhaps neither of us did anything wrong then. That's good. We can part as friends." But instead of returning her handshake, he gave her a blank look.

"You're leaving? Just like that?"

"Yes. Now that we've had our little chat, I do feel better, and I hope you do too, Captain." Maria hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt, because right now, she felt like her life was at an end, walking away from him like this.

"You can't just walk out of here in the middle of the night. It's not safe. And anyhow, don't you – " he fumbled for an excuse, anything to keep her from leaving until he could think straight, there was something left unsaid – "don't you want to come up to the house? If you stay another hour or two, you can surprise the children. At breakfast. Sausages, you know." He lifted his eyebrows, knowing her weaknesses.

"Oh, no, I couldn't," and she tried to smile at his joke, but her eyes filled with tears. "It would be too hard for the children. And me. To have to say goodbye again. And," she forced herself to add, "I don't think Baroness Schrader would be very happy to see me, do you? I don' t want to cause any more trouble."

He took a deep breath; in fact, it seemed like the whole world held its breath for a moment or two.

"Maria." He'd never called her by her name before, and it sounded to his own ears like he'd shouted it, but in fact it was barely more than a whisper. Again, louder this time. "Maria. There isn't going to be any Baroness."

"I don't understand, " she said dully.

"We've called off our engagement, you see. She's gone."

Maria had done such a good job hiding her feelings for so long that an automatic response flew from her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"You are?" He looked at her curiously. "I don't believe you."

"Why – why did you send her away?" She almost choked on the words. Her mind was racing, but she couldn't form a single thought. It was bad enough, what she'd allowed to happen with him, but this was much worse than anything she'd imagined. Baroness Schrader was not a nice person, Maria knew that, but that didn't excuse Maria's having come between them.

"I didn't send her away, Maria," he said. He looked down at the ground, shuffling his feet a little, like he was remembering something he'd rather forget. "She, uh, left. The day after my visit to the Abbey."

Maria stared at him. "She what?"

"She left," he repeated. "She saw it too, what was happening. With you. And me. Do you want to know what she said to me, Maria?"

She wasn't sure she wanted to know, but she could see that wasn't going to stop him.

"Elsa told me, 'You can't marry someone when…'" His eyes found hers. "'…when you're in love with someone else.' And she was right. Because-"

Suddenly, a joyful pulse of energy shot through him, he felt like could do anything, fly to the moon, move a mountain, anything. Why had it taken him so long to see? "Because I love _you_."

She started at him, incredulous, and sat down heavily again on her hay bale. "You're not in love with me!"

"You're wrong about that. And you know what else? _You_ are in love with _me_, Fraulein. Maria."

"I most certainly am not, Captain!"

"Oh, yes you are, Captain! I mean, Fraulein." He shook his head, smiling. No wonder he was confused. The whole world had turned upside-down in just a few minutes, and yet it seemed to have righted itself somehow.

"You can't tell me who I'm in love with!"

"But I'm right. Think about it. Why did you come back here tonight?"

"I told you. I came back to tell you not to feel-"

"You came back to tell me that I should not worry about having hurt you, that I should go ahead and marry another woman. You wanted me to be happy, is that it?"

"Well, yes," she said weakly, "but…"

"That, my dear Fraulein, that is love. Right there." He smiled impishly.

Maria stood and began to pace circles around him. "You can't love me. You are a titled naval hero, remember? I'm a – well, people like me don't count for much in your world."

Georg was enjoying the role reversal, standing still on the high ground while she paced out her rebellion against what he knew to be inevitable. All summer, it had been the other way around between them. "Maria. No one tells me what to do, what to think. If you've learned nothing else about me this summer, you know that."

"I'm going to be a nun, for heaven's sake."

"No you're not. You told me that not ten minutes ago."

"Not to mention you must be twice my-"

Mercifully, she was cut off by a loud neighing from the stalls behind them. She froze. "What's that?"

"A horse," he said patiently, and then he remembered. "Anna Magdalena." He ran toward the stalls.

"You have a horse named Anna Magdalena?"

"After Bach's wife. She belonged to Agathe. She chose the name, don't blame me."

The conversation had swung so suddenly from a declaration of love to his late wife, that Maria felt dizzy. She was irrationally afraid that he'd forget where they'd left off, somehow, so she forgot her fears and followed him into one of the stalls. Something stirred inside her at the sight of his strong, capable hands running over the mare's swollen belly.

"She's beautiful."

His eyes were closed, his face intent, but he nodded. "She is. This is the first time I've bred her since…"

Maria smiled. "I'm glad. Another good thing that came from the summer."

His eyes flew open and he bit back a laugh, but not before she saw his face.

"What? What did I say?"

"Nothing. She's fine, anyway. False alarm. It's not going to be today."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

He let himself laugh this time. "It wasn't this summer. She's been this way ... uh, what I mean to say is … it takes eleven months. From when, uh." He cleared his throat. "I bred her last fall. It's true that you turned things around for me, but some things, I was managing to figure out on my own. She's getting on in years, and I just thought I ought to. …Now, where were we, anyway? Stop trying to distract me. Fraulein. Maria."

"How do you know?"

"How do I know that it takes eleven months? For heaven's sake, she's not a rabbit, or a cat. Horses are even bigger than people, so of course…"

"I knew that," she said defensively. "I grew up on a farm, for heaven's sake. I just wasn't thinking, you had me so..."

She had to take a deep breath before she could even say the next thing out loud. "What I meant was, how do you know that you love me?" Baroness Schrader had said the same thing, but she'd made it sound like a problem everyone would be better off avoiding. Now that everything was beginning to sink in, Maria was actually fairly sure that she was hopelessly, deeply, eternally in love with him. It was like finding the last piece in a puzzle that made everything else make sense in her unsettled life. Until she'd met him, she'd never felt like she really mattered to anyone. But she still couldn't quite believe he felt the same way.

He took her hand and led her out of the stall. She couldn't think of anything except the place where their hands were joined, the way his hand was warm and strong around hers.

"How do I know? Because," he answered, turning to face her, a half-smile playing on his lips. "Because you are endlessly fascinating to me. Because you make me want to be the man I used to be, make me believe I can be, even while the rest of the world is falling apart. Because once you get past all those – uh – superficial differences you were talking about, we both agree about what's important in life. Because I've been miserable for two weeks worrying about you, wanting to know that you were happy, knowing that you couldn't be happy without me. Because you will be a wonderful mother. And because you are beautiful, and if I can say that with you looking the way you do right now, I must be in love. What is that dreadful thing you're wearing, anyway?"

She looked down. "It's my habit. I left the wimple behind."

"I see."

"Are you going to make fun of my clothes again? You don't look very reputable yourself, although the effect_ is_ rather dashing." she added bashfully.

"A habit, well, it just doesn't seem appropriate, somehow."

"Why not?"

"Well," he said carefully. "You have experience with men. You were quite clear about that, as I recall. So surely you know what's going to happen now. Habit or not." He took a step toward her, a question on his face.

Her eyes flew to his mouth, and that was all the permission he needed. Slowly, gently, he drew her toward him, but he let her lips find his.

His mouth was warm and firm and she wanted the kiss to go on forever, but he pulled away from her as though to study her face. His blue gaze was so fierce that she couldn't bear it. Swept by a wave of emotion, she collapsed against him. His lips grazed her face and his arms went around her as she sighed in relief.

She wasn't sure this was really be happening to her, but the burn where his face had scraped hers, the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath, his sturdy heartbeat through the thin shirt, all of it was too real to deny. "Reverend Mother always says, 'when the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window.'"

Georg held her face away from his, smiling tenderly. "What else does the Reverend Mother say? She was not quite so encouraging with me."

"She was just trying to protect me. She always says that you have to look for your life."

"And have you found it? Maria?"

"I think I have." She paused. "I _know_ I have."

"I love you," he told her again, and smile she returned to him was so lovely, her blue eyes glowing, that he simply had to kiss her again. This time, he wove his fingers through the golden silk of her hair and held her close as he gently explored her mouth. Thrilled by her enthusiastic response, he slid his hands down to her shoulders and pulled her close to him, holding her so tightly that she let out a little squeak.

He pulled away, alarmed. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you? I'm not making a very positive impression tonight, am I? First I wrestle you to the ground and now I've probably broken a rib or two."

She laughed. "I've had it much worse, believe me."

She lifted her face for another kiss, but before he could attend to her, the blissful mood was broken by the sound of her growling stomach.

"I'm sorry," Maria blushed, "I haven't eaten much in days. It's funny, right now I feel like I could eat…" her eyes slid over toward the stalls and she grinned. "Um. A sausage or three. And some eggs. And a bowl of fruit. And a big cup of coffee. And some strudel, maybe. "

"I hope you'll leave a crumb or two for me; I could use some breakfast myself. Look out there!" pointed toward the open door. "The sun's almost up. Let's go back to the house. The children wouldn't let anyone change a thing in your room, so your things are still there. You can clean up, and change, and then we'll tell the children."

"Tell them what?"

"Well, that we're getting married."

"Married?" Maria gasped.

"Well, yes, of course. Another mark against me. I should have gotten down on one knee to ask you."

"Oh, don't do that, please. There's no need. " she said hastily.

"Maria. What did you _think_ was going to happen?"

"I don't know. I mean, this has all happened so fast. Not two hours ago, I thought you were marrying someone _else,_ for heaven's sake. Can't we just…"

"Do you want to go back to the Abbey? To think things over?" Georg asked gently, his heart sinking. Now that he had her, he didn't want to let her out of his sight again.

"Oh, no! I want to stay here. With you," she said timidly. "And the children. This feels like home. Like my family."

"Well, then, you haven't got a choice."

"Can't we just – go back to the way things were before?"

He lifted an eyebrow. "My, my, Fraulein. Perhaps we don't believe in the same things after all."

"What do you mean?"

"I am _not_ going to live in sin with my governess. I am not that kind of man and frankly, Fraulein, I'm surprised that you would even suggest such a thing."

Her eyes grew wide and she felt her face turn red. "That is not what I meant and you know it!" She realized, now, that things were already changing between the two of them. The air around them seemed permanently charged, somehow, so that every look, every word they exchanged seemed to leave a tiny spark behind. Her breath quickened and she felt a pleasant flutter in her stomach.

Georg saw the expression on her face, and in those flashing blue eyes, he saw the dawning of desire. Perhaps he'd had her alone in the barn long enough. "Well, then." he said decisively. "You'll just have to marry me. That's all there is to it."

"Can you – would you mind terribly if…" Maria interrupted.

"What is it? Anything, darling," he promised.

"Can I give you my answer after breakfast?"

Laughing, he took her arm and led her from the barn, and together , they headed toward home.

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**I wrote this piece in response to one of the July prompts in our Proboards community. After a couple of fluffernutters, I let myself go deep into angsty territory this time, with an inside joke or two, and lots of repurposed dialogue for good measure. Please review and let me know how you liked it! Thanks to my pal lemacd for feedback on the RM and absolution for other transgressions. I don't own TSOM or anything about it.**


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